


Missing Moments

by yeahwrite



Series: Those he forgot [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bad Puns, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt and comfort, Jenga, M/M, Mnemosurgery, Past Relationship(s), Secret Relationship, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, dead bodies do appear, everyone is a disaster and they all support each other, part of a series but can absolutely be read on its own
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-07-12 08:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15991367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeahwrite/pseuds/yeahwrite
Summary: Misfire arranges a video-chat between friends.A mundane enough thing, should be simple...but as with many, many things that the Scavengers do, it does not go at all according to plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy reading!

This was it. This was the pivotal moment.

It was now or never.

Everything so far, it all depended on this one last movement.

So, his hand had to _not_ go all wibbly wobbly with it.

Funny phrase, wibbly wobbly. Why did everyone say that? Why wasn’t it wobbly wibbly or wobbly wobbly or wibbly wibbly? 

Wibbly wibbly sounded better that wibbly wobbly, he decided.

_Wibbly wibbly._

Like what the W.A.P did – also a weird word. Like a song if you said it fast enough. Wap, wap, wap wap wap, wap. Like in a rap song. Rap wap! - no matter how much Crankcase liked to say otherwise.

Something about it flying _as smooth_ as the metal of a fresh protoform, yadda yadda.

…Not that he’d ever _felt_ a fresh protoform before. He didn’t think Crankcase had either.

…Were they even actually _smooth?_

Or-

“ _Misfire,_ are you going to make your move? _”_ Fulcrum rudely interrupted this new line of thought.

“Hey!” Misfire protested. “I was just gonna!”

“No, you _weren’t._ ”

“Whatevs pinhead. I’m still gonna win. Isn’t that right Grimsy?” A wide grin at the spectating dinobot sitting over at the table with them, watching over as Misfire taught him how the craft was done.

Grimlock gave off a grunt in response.

Which Misfire took to both be an agreement and a sign of his comprehension skills improving, if he knew what was being said!

Both a yay! Big yay. Mega yay. Very much yay!

“Oh _c’mon_. Rate you’re going we’ll still be at it when the others get back. And _then_ when they do, _I’ll_ win.”  Mean words but the look on the big-chinned face was good natured.

“Says the loser, loser.” Misfire scrunched up his face in concentration then, as he finally chose and took a block from the tower.

Not that it was much of a tower.

Blocks of wood stacked onto of each other on a table.

Someone would have to be really, really tiny to live in it. Really tiny and really still so the blocks didn’t topple.

Like a statue.

But not one of those ones that melted all stickily all over the place if you left it too long and got Krok all mad at you. No. They were no good either.

“See!”

And then it was Fulcrum’s turn.

“Hey! You’re taking your time too!”

“Am not.” Fulcrum disagreed, hand moving to grab a block, then retracting. Then moving to another one, then retracting again. Then moving and retracting and then moving-

“Are too!”

“Am _not_. It’s called being _careful_.” Fulcrum replied as he took hold of a block, seemingly happy with _this_ decision and getting ready to move one at last.

And a little thought popped into Misfire’s head as he did, prompting him to move forwards, leaning across the table, a mischievous look growing on his face. 

“It’s _called_ being- “

“ _Ah!_ Misfire _no_ – _wait.”_ Alarm flared onto Fulcrum’s face, but he was unable to move with the block almost halfway out now. “You’ll knock over the-!”

A loud resounding _clatter_ as it all went tumbling down then, blocks flying out all over the place.

Across the table, onto the floor… _further_ across the floor…

And with that, after looking down at the mess below, Misfire finished his manoeuvre, face in close as he playfully booped Fulcrum’s nasal ridge.

“Looks like _I_ win pinhead!”

“Cheat! That doesn’t count”

“Yes it does!”

“You knocked it over!”

“Nuh-uh, _you_ moved!”

“Did _not!_ ”

“Did too!”

“Misfire you _leaned across the table_ how can you- ?!” Fulcrum cut himself off, venting deeply as if the realisation finally kicked in as to who he was arguing with here.

A mech who really, _absolutely_ could keep this debate going on to _far_ beyond when the others arrived, if given the slightest opportunity to do so.

Even if they _were_ both expecting someone to call long before that.

“…How long do we have left until your _mysterious contact c_ alls?”

A contact that Misfire had just about miraculously managed to keep his mouth shut about, apparently not wanting to ruin the introduction he was planning.

Fulcrum would hypothetically be impressed by this unprecedented level of control except…bleeding ship filled with people’s brains, he could handle with a wonder filled smile on his face…but _this?_ From _him?_

It was almost _disturbing_.

“Until we hear a ring obviously.” Misfire gave off an exaggerated shrug.

“Heh. Time for a rematch then?”

Misfire practically flung himself back down onto his chair then, an unpleasant _screeeeech_ sounding out as he did.

Like the sound a glitch mouse might make.

A very upset glitch mouse.

Maybe one who had its food taken away from it. Or was abandoned by its little fellow glitch mice friends.

Or even one abandoned by its little fellow glitch mice friends _after_ having its food taken away from them.

Poor glitch mouse.

Misfire would not want to be that glitch mouse.

He would, however, want to be the ultimate champion of the sc _ave_ ngers with this game.

And that he would be!

Which is why with pointed finger guns a great amount of glee he accepted the challenge.

“How about you Grimsy?” One finger gun remained pointing at his favourite bomb as the other diverted to his favourite dinosaur, who was on the process off picking up a block from the floor and looking it over.

“Me, Grimlock?”

“ _Uh huh!_ The more the merrier! Right Fulcrum?”

 

* * *

 

Perhaps a statement that would have been accurate on other occasions, such as with a dance party or people bringing food, but _not_ so much here with the _sca_ vengers.

 _Especially_ not when it got to the point that of the three only Grimlock had not gotten incredibly competitive.

Sure, they were all having fun, good game between friends.

_But it was a good game between friends that they were going to win._

_Especially_ when a scrappy makeshift sled was brought out and _turned score board._

With Fulcrum somehow winning on it, despite his dearest pink buddy playing dirty the entire time.

Perhaps it was his massive chin weighing him down and making his balance shift or something. Misfire didn’t know.

He wasn’t a chinologist, no matter how big the chin or cute the mech attached to it.

Although, honestly, despite all that, it was not actually on purpose when Misfire bumped the table as he leapt up.

He really was just that excited to hear the ringing!

He looked rapidly back and forth between Grimlock and Fulcrum with a massive grin on his face as his wings gave off a flutter.

He already knew who he was going to be taking to introduce right the heck now.

Sure, he had big questions – very big, bigger than _Crankcase’s scowl_ sized questions – that he really, really, really, really, _really_ wanted answered by his favourite blue and white masked jet about his favourite dinobot.

 _But_ …those question would take…long. It would take _long._

That and with _how_ they were…it was something best done in _private_ with is contact.

No fellow scaven _ger_ s watching for that one.

 No sireee.

So, for now – “Time to introduce _the hell_ out of _you_ pinhead!”

That would be _fun_.

He grabbed his shoulders and started trying to yank him out of the chair.

“Hey, hey! I’m up, I’m up.” Fulcrum got to his feet, stumbling all wibbly wibbly as Misfire gave another yank.

“Then let’s _gooooooo-_ “ He swung the k-class around before moving to starting to push him from behind.

The continued, unceasing _ooooooooooooooooooooo_ of a go only being broken for a quick, encouraging-

 “Keep practicing Grimsy! You’re doing great!”

-As he scooted away with a bomb in tow.

Fulcrum let off a laugh then as they exited the room, before looking backwards to face Misfire, with a grin on his face.

“You really _are_ excited to talk to this guy!”

“Well _duh_ dummy! I’ve been waiting to give the exposition about you both for- _ever_.”

Misfire went in a bit of a spiel then about just how long and torturous that wait had truly been.

Had his hands been free he would have pantomimed.

 A shake of the head and another chuckle. “Heh. I’ve not been here _that_ long Misfire.”

Then with a head suddenly turned bashfully away and an oh so quiet mumble: “Even if it _has_ been nice.”

“ _Awww_.” Misfire preened. “You _do_ love- _AAAAHH!!!”_

 A mistake had been made.

Not a big mistake, like, Misfire was privy to several big mistakes. He’d made several on a far more regular than was safe basis.

Like that time with the trial. Oh, now _that_ one was a _biggy_.

Or with someone else – picking on himself was mean – when the one the DJD made opening that coffin on Clemency.

That had been a biggy.

This was not a biggy.

This was, him trying to switch from shoving Fulcrum to giving him a big hug and a neck nuzzle for being so _lovably sweet_ \- and _messing it up._

But ironically enough, while the other two biggies had turned out _great_ for him in the end, with this one, a hurt face seemed the only likely outcome-

Legs accidentally stumbling into other legs and yelps as they tried to not to lose balance and fall, pinhead’s arms pinwheeling to try stay upright as Misfire oh-so-helpfully contributed by only gripping down on him tighter.

Swaying back and forth, back and forth like a precarious tower of blocks, as the two continued to make a variety of distressed sounds and the call continued to ring.

Until the pinwheeling somehow worked and the two came to a stop, near faceplant averted and no dinobot stamping over to investigate an “attack” either.

Fulcrum let out a deep puff of relief at this, as Misfire _squeed_ in delight: “Oooh! Good moves!”

“Thanks. _Practice_.”

“With those spins are you sure you weren’t a _hella_ -copter before you went k-class?”

Fulcrum groaned.

 _Loudly_.

“What?! That was a good one!”

Fulcrum shook his head with an almost pained looking _grimace_. “Let’s just go answer your guy before he thinks we’ve crashed the ship.”

“That’s not stopped us before!” Misfire said in his sing-song voice.

 They shuffled forwards, an awkward movement since Misfire was still hugging Fulcrum as he did, but it would have to do because he wasn’t going to be _letting go_ , now was he?!

“Even if we can’t do swapsies because the ship-“

“Swapsies?”  

Was Fulcrum finally getting some actual information about this now?!

“Oh! Yeah! We give him stuff, he gives us stuff. Classic swapsies!”

“Decent deal then.” There was approval there, approval that Misfire was very pleased to hear from him.

“If the trade’s _fair_. You’ve not given him anything high spec for snacks Misfire, have you?”  

“Pffft, nope. Never ever. All good deals!” He lied.

Only _sometimes_ , when left unsupervised. And only for the very good, very rare and very juicy snacks!

…He was getting hungry thinking about it already…some of those would really be good right now, actually.

 _But!_ It was _mostly_ for some deets! Or sometimes even some cool tech!

They might be getting holomatter avatar stuff soon! How awesome was _that?!_

Think of the things they could do! The thrilling trips! The epic pranks! Maybe even meet some cool organics!

 _“Right,_ then. _”_

“Anyway…what…what was I saying?! Before that.”

His mind turned up completely ‘???’ on this.

 “’Even if we can’t do swapsies’”

_Oooooh._

 “Right! Even if we can’t do that, there’s always other stuff to do together!”

“Other stuff, _like?”_

“Oh, _y’know_.”

_“Like?”_

“Like - as a _completely_ random example - vandalising autopedia!” A mischievous look glinted in his optics.

Not yet the sort that would usually make another _s_ cav _en_ ger frantically look for another to redirect him to - that was higher on the scale - but, oh, the starts of it was _there_.

“All you need for that is good jokes and the interweb!”

“That _._ Still think that’s a waste of time.”

“That’s because you’re an internet _noob_.”

“Anyway, BTT!” He detached himself from the orange and brown mech, instead moving over to the console, raising a hand high-five style above in the air as he placed another hand on his waist plating.

“You ready?!?!”

An eyebrow arched. “Ready.”

“Doubly ready?!”

“ _Tripley_ ready Misfire. Could _not_ be readier.”

“Then count down! A one and a t-”

Wait, are you supposed to raise or drop your fingers for countdowns?

He dropped his hand to his scrunching up face, looking over it.

He’d already had his fingers up so -? But -?

“twooooo-“  He prolonged, mind trailing off.

…Because this was _controversial_.

…But for the sake of Fulcrum, he supposed he would leave the important question to another time. Perhaps he would put up a poll on The Big Conversation.

If he remembered.

But for now, he gave up and hit that accept right button right in its face with a _bam!_

And with that, the giant ‘tv’ blinked into life.

“Finally! I was starting to think that you weren’t going to pick up. I have a time limit you kn-“

The voice of the yellow-faced mech abruptly choked off, making a sort of sound like he’d just been violently punched in the throat.

Misfire’s best guess was he must have just noticed the surprise guest!

 _Not_ , the reaction he was _expecting_ for that…but…maybe introductions would help!

“Hey Stormy!” He waved.

Then he swung his arms to finger gun directly to Fulcrum again- “I’d like to introduce _the hell_ out of the newest sc _a_ v _e_ ng _e_ r - my very favourite bomb here. He’s-“

_“Not dead. You’re not dead.”_

The blue jet wheezed out, wings hiked and optics wider than Misfire had ever seen them before, as they bored into that very favourite bomb, with such an intensity that Misfire might have worried that he was trying to fire lasers from his optics, were he physically present.

“No..? No, he’s not? Ful-“ Misfire turned to face the other, a once vast excitement frittering away into confusion.

Confusion that was only heightened when he _was_ facing him.

Him, who looked just as bad if not even _worse_ , mouth hanging upon and figure twitching like someone making their way through their fight or flight reflex.

 “…crum?”

“It’s _you_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a flashback, in which a friend with wings proves to be an excellent wingman!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so much for all the kudos and incredibly lovely comments! They mean the world to me and make me so, so happy to see! :D
> 
> I really hope you all enjoy this chapter here too!
> 
> Takes place after the proposal scene in "Pivotal of Us", but you don't have to have read that to make sense of this.

Pivot twitched uncomfortably again, head ducked down as he was led right through the heart of an Autobot territory.

His spark contorting erratically the entire time.

_Don’t make optic contact with anyone. Don’t look at them too long and-_

“You’re fine.” A harsh whisper directed at him, although even then, he didn’t look directly at its blue and white source.

“I’ll have you know that my attention deflector works perfectly-“

Fine enough to say, but this could very well be a trap.

Brainstorm _was_ an Autobot, after all.

Friend of the wonderful mech that was _somehow_ his conjunx or not, he’d only even _met_ the jet once before.

And _sure_ , the autobot scientist had kept quiet about this so far, but there was no telling if he’d changed his mind and was about to sell him out.

…He shouldn’t have agreed to this.

Stupid, stupid decision. This was where _‘bravery’_ got him!

His gears were all straining, desperate to make a run for it…as he knew he really, really should…

…It’s just…Tumbler had seemed so, so excited about this event when he’d called up him up to tell him about it - with his voice filled with infectious smiles and an “I would never go without you”.

All of which made it impossible to not say yes.

Yes, to letting Tumbler’s mad scientist of a friend pick him up and take him there.

_Because yay teamwork!_

“-For the next few solar cycles you could stand in front of someone and do a dance and they wouldn’t pay you any attention! Trust me, I would know. It’s brilliant.”

Hyperbole he was certain and - “You said. But you can see me.” - he murmured in response, optics flicking around.

“Loophole!” Brainstorm trilled, waggling the fingers of his free hand.

“Me and Tumbles have it. It was very clever. Do you want to know how I did it?”

Pivot would have declined the offer, but Brainstorm was already busy gushing on about his oh-so-brilliant-contraptions.

He let him go on as his own attention drifted to thinking of his lover - a deliberate upgrade from thinking of all the ways _he could die horribly because of this_ \- getting the gist of what that lover’s friend was saying.

An attention deflector did exactly what it sounded like.

Gazes would skim over him but never focus. Not invisible but not identifiable either.

No word would get back to his superiors of this, which was _certainly_ relieving.

What, with him walking with a false autobot badge on, plastered grotesquely over the purple one that he usually wore with pride, but here...here if seen, it would get him shot down in an instant.

Ahh, the things he did for Tumbler…his Tumbler, who he knew would do the same for him…had already done the same, even engaging in this relationship at all.

Pivot smiled fondly as just as fond memories continued to drift through his processor.

Memories of kind gestures and oh so precious moments stolen away from the war for just the two of them.

Moments that with him could feel like both all the time in the world and no time at all…

This solar cycle would be really, really pushing that feeling there, attending a celebration filled with trigger-happy Autobots but if anyone could make him feel like-

_-Hold on._

He might have been daydreaming here, but that didn’t mean he didn’t notice when the scientist leading him along abruptly changed topics.

“Now, for an attention _reflector_ you should worry, that - ohhh…. that would be a brilliant idea! Imagine! I should do that! But should it just attract attention or…no…for someone of my genius, I would need to make it more exciting than that!” Brainstorm hmm-ed, free hand to chin as his cogs moved in his head to concoct some sort of haphazard plan.

“All very impressive sounding. Must need some very high-level specs for that.” Although still jittery about both the situation and the mech - something that was abundantly clear in his voice - Pivot felt himself getting just a bit begrudgingly interested in this turn of conversation here.

At least he could talk about specs if it came to it.

That was his thing. Techie him. He knew all about that. Even liked it.

Could do a spec off with somebody with ease...albeit usually, in normal, non-mad science related topics…like computers….and regular manufacturing…

…Still, he could possibly handle this if he just steered the conversation right.

Maybe that kind of chatter would help calm his nerves a little too.

Or give him something less serious to focus them on instead!

Although…

“But, uh…why? Why that?” Despite that entire thought process, the thought process he just had about how to handle this, he couldn’t help himself with throwing that one out there.

Brainstorm was supposed to be a weapons designer after all, wasn’t he? Making horrific and twisted things for the Autobots to throw at folks like Pivot.

But this idea didn’t seem very…. weapon like.

 “Of course it is!” The first part was agreed to there without a kliks worth of hesitation.

“And because I _can!_ Not that I’d use that on you! I can see how that would make you feel _alllllll_ sorts of uneasy, but no need to fret! I’ll be nice and find somebody else to experiment with the very mildly dangerous equipment on.” The scientist once again looped around in his spiel to a reassurance.

…Of sorts.

“After all, can’t have something happening to you now, can we Pivot? _Eh?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will pick up where 1 left off.
> 
> And I think in this chapter here I may have possibly made Brainstorm a bit like Cinderella's fairy godmother.
> 
> "You shall go to the ball!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much again for the comments and kudos on this fic! I love them all so much, they're awesome! :D
> 
> I also hope you all enjoy this new chapter, in which everybody in it has a Bad Time.

“We’re acquainted.”  

That there, was the _only_ answer Misfire got when asking about the two knowing each other.

Got as he shuffled uncomfortably over the situation, plating ruffling and wings ever so slightly drooping.

He’d really take just about _now_ to be able to have a sudden grin of sudden understanding.

Orrr….

_...Now!_

Now?!

How about now!

_…noooooow?_

No.

No, it looked like the universe wasn’t going to conveniently match itself to his inner thoughts.

But, at least he wasn’t the _only_ one needing some serious blanks filled in, looking at the expressions of the other two.

Both who seemed torn between “!?!?!” and looking like they were just about ready to fling themselves right out of the room.

He wasn’t sure which one of them would succeed in getting out first.

Brainstorm has the advantage of jets and propellers, but Fulcrum was a _seasoned runner_.

 _Not_ that his running was season dependant. He meant, like, _experienced_.

Fulcrum was experienced at running.

That kind of seasoned!

The time one instead of the time period one…or did they both count as a time period, but different types of time period?

_One being ‘cause of the period of time you did something and the other being a period that would take time to get through?!_

_Ugh_. This was annoying to think about.

Anyway, the period that would take time to get through _wasn’t the one he meant!_

Stupid language being all similar sounding and saying and spelling – wait that was 1, 2, 3… _quadruple S’s_! And he wasn’t even _trying_ to do that! Just came naturally to him, he guessed. - in stupid places.

Who made it like that?

Someone stupid who’s determined to confuse up thoughts and conversations, that’s who.

Stupid.

Sort of like this situation, with everyone sort of just stupidly gawping at each other rather than doing or saying literally anything at all.

He should intervene again.

It was his solemn duty as resident chatterbox to bring in the chatter to the b- well, ship in this case.

Not a box.

Time to bring the chatter to the ship!

“Yeah. Kay. Cool, cool. But _how_ are you _‘acquainted’_?” Misfire drawled out the last word especially.

“There’s a book here. A book I’m now rudely having to take a test on despite never ever having read it ever. That book is called ‘ _what the heck is going on in here’_ and I’d like to know just a _tinsy winsy_ bit of the synopsis.” He continued, narrowing two fingers together until they were just _this_ close.

“Yes! Yes, what he said.”  Brainstorm spoke up again, voice incredulous, as if he was somehow innocent of all of this.

“ _Pivot_ , how are you not-“  

Misfire did catch that different name there, as he started to re-evaluate how much of the synopsis he wanted to know and adjust his fingers accordingly.

 And he proceeded to _not_ be overcome with complete and utter shock about it.

What? Like it was supposed to be _hard_ to tell that ‘Fulcrum’ wasn’t his original one?

Sounded all _wrong_.

Too plainly _phonetic_ in sounding and not enough subvocals to be a _real_ cybertronian name.

But even so, when it came to that, it was like - _pfft_.

Whatevs.

No big.

He wasn’t exactly _unique_ amongst the _Sc_ a _v_ en _g_ ers with going by a nickname. Unique for other things? Yep, sure - you _bet_ he was! But that?

_Nope!_

In fact, they matched!

Misfire wasn’t Misfire’s original name either!

On a scale of renamed due to a trial and a complete misunderstanding to renamed self after a dead pet, he did wonder where he fell though.

Something to pester him about for sure.

But he lost the chance to comment on it there and then when he was distracted.

Distracted by Fulcrum making a weird, anxious and wordless sound in his vocorder, which Misfire could not even begin to decipher what in the name of the totally real Necrobot he was going for.

“Dead? Good story, actually, repeated _several_ times over. I have _terribl_ e luck. Or good luck? I mean, I keep nearly dying which is very _very_ terrible for me but then I _don’t_ which is very very good for me, so-?” An aborted gesture of sorts, him changing his mind about it before it had even properly started.

…Fulcrum tittered a bit then, when nobody said anything else, but _that_ ended as quickly and as awkwardly as it had started.

Thankfully, because… _ouch_. That babbling and forced laughter of a mech teetering on a full-blown panic there was just _painful_ to listen to for-

“Misfire! Can we talk? First. Privately.” Fulcrum then pleaded as he made to shuffle over, shoulders hunched forwards, as his optics kept flicking back to look at the face on the big bad screen.

As if they were going to be keeping some big bad secret from it.

So naturally Misfire responded in an incredibly loud and exuberant manner, thrilled that he was finally going to be given a book blurb on all this!

Once again, his wings went back to fluttering in delight, hiking upwards as he flashed a big wide smile.

Felt much better than all that uncomfortable, mysterious tension.

“WCYD Stormy? BRB!” As he hooked an arm around Fulcrum’s shoulders and was already making to leave the room with him.

Brainstorm let out protests at this, but only Fulcrum acknowledged them with a: “Stay on. _Please_. This won’t take a while.”  

Misfire begged to differ, but despite his apparent eagerness to talk to him, Fulcrum turned strangely quiet once more once they reached the hall.

Odd.

It only took a couple of steps for Misfire to, with an impatient flick of his wings, ask what the _deal_ was with all that?!

And only a couple steps more for another flick and another question.

Fulcrum opened his mouth then, stopping in his tracks and seeming about to answer...

Before he turned out to be an _unrepentant traitor_ as he _also_ turned on his heels and full-on _sprinted_ right back to the room they left!

_“Hey!”_

The door of it slamming and locking as soon as Fulcrum got back in.

Not only causing Misfire to smack his face right into that door with a painful _clang_ , unable to slow himself down in time, but also _leaving him outside from where everything was happening!!!_

_“Fulcrum!!!”_

_A very dirty trick by a very dirty bomb!!!!_

 “ _C’mon_ pinhead! Let me in!” Misfire called out, as he glowered at the door, rubbing at his sore helm.

He then repeated his _dirty trick by a dirty bomb_ sentiment, if in a much wordier and more upset format than what had originally struck him.

But it was an utterly useless protest.

After all-

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s soundproof. Ship used to be used as prison transport. Didn’t want prisoners listenin’ in on anything going on inside the main hub. Common sense, that.” Fulcrum explained the whole display, looking at the door, sure that their ought to be some sort of commotion going on the other side of it.

Not that he heard a peep of it, a testament right there in itself to his explanation.

As long as Grimlock didn’t get upset by any of that noise and no-one else returned early...

…A deep shaky vent.

He was going to say it would be alright. But that wasn’t quite right, was it?

No.

It could be.

He hoped it would be.

Hoped he could walk out the room later with good, comforting knowledge that would help bring closure to a part of his life that…in all honesty, he never thought he would get any closure from.

That he’d, as such, completely tried to move on from.

It was gone, he could never get it back and it hurt like the pit to think about too long, wounds opening raw every single time he allowed himself to fall down into memory lane.

Every time he thought about it.

So, after waking up from stasis, he’d made the decision not to.

Not to think any more about it at all.

To try move on with his life, and _by Primus_ , that was much harder than it sounded, even _without_ the added complication of having to adjust to a _massive time-skip_ and what _that_ brought with it- but even them, he’d gotten so _far_ in trying!

He had been doing _so damned good!_

He’d accepted that he was _exactly_ where he wanted to be now, and that…that was okay.

And yet here it was again, returning in such a visceral, _real_ way that left his thoughts about the matter a mess that he couldn’t even _begin_ to sort through.

And how that return went depended entirely now on what happened on _this_ side of the door now.

Not the other.

The other he would deal with later.

“And I _can’t_ have Misfire listening in. Not on this.”

A deeper, much more ragged vent as his fists clenched.

In and out, in and out.

_Get it over with Fulcrum. You know what you want to ask. You know what you want to do so just do it!_

“You Con then?” He instead delayed, mentally kicking himself hard as he did.

But he supposed this was still something that he should ask about too.

So, _technically_ he _wasn’t_ just procrastinating.

Either way, the red badge didn’t make sense if he was, but neither did the S _c_ avengers potentially working with an Autobot.

Or an Autobot working with the Sc _ave_ n _g_ ers.

Grimlock being the sole exception.

Frag, a _Decepticon_ working with a crew like the _S_ cavenger _s_ _barely_ made any sense.

_Frag, this entire damned situation made no sense at all either way, faction aside!_

_Him? Him of all possible mechs Misfire could have been talking with?! Here?!_

Or.

Well.

Not technically here but he wasn’t going to waste times thinking about the minutes of a situation that had very rapidly escalated – as it was already, Fulcrum’s processor felt like it was about to glitch out at any moment.

But as that potential threat of a glitch loomed over him, a yellow mask was removed, confirming both suspicions and revealing a face he had _not_ known was there.

“Good choice, _not_ complaining, but, well, that _new?_ ”

That being the purple badge he was referring too, not the face.

“It’s a long story.” Carefully chosen words by a mech not known for being careful, as he slotted the mask back into place.

“No, then. Were you purple when _I_ knew you?

_If yeah, then shame I didn’t know. Would have made things easier for the both of us._

Then something else struck Fulcrum, and he moved onto another question before Brainstorm got the chance to even answer the first:

“Does…-?”

“No. He doesn’t know.”

There was an unspoken _‘and he won’t’_ that came with that.

_Ask him about it Fulcrum. Damnit! Ask him what you want to know about! Ask him about who you want to know about!_

He turned back to the screen, forcing himself to look right at Brainstorm.

“How is he?” Hands gone from clenched to wringing together, just like that.

“Is he okay? Is he…is he _happy?”_

_Is he alive?_

“I know I…” Fulcrum rambled on awkwardly, fidgeting further as things that were and weren’t done flashed through his mind.

“I didn’t do him good. In the end. I didn’t. I know I didn’t. I messed up. If I _hadn’t_ messed up…”

He wouldn’t have thought him dead long before either had ever even heard of Clemency, for one thing.

He hadn’t meant that to happen.

He’d never meant that to happen.

But when certain things did happen, he wasn’t high ranked enough to say no or intelligent enough to find a way around a yes.

Like he should have been. He _knew_ he should have been.

And even _before_ that he- he…

…He didn’t like Brainstorm’s reaction to his question.

The blue jet had the appearance of someone who looked like this was _the worst possible thing he could have ever possibly been asked._

His entire posture had sagged, optics, shoulders and wings dropping down as if someone had drained all the energy out of him at once.

A new fear gripped Fulcrum even _tighter_ than how he already was at this.

_“No.”_

And it was _not_ a fear for _him_ this time.

“No. _Don’t_ \- don’t tell me Tumbler’s dead.” He spoke, voice and face quickly turning stricken.

_Please, no._

“Oh! Oh no, no - I can do _that_ for you easy-peasy! _Because he’s not dead_.” Brainstorm thankfully quickly clarified, being shaken out of his own slouched stupor.

Relief immediately flooded Fulcrum at those wonderful words, causing his own tense shoulders to sag too.

 “Chromedome – ehh, he goes by Chromedome all the time now. Not Tumbler.”

Fulcrum mouthed the word to himself, getting a feel of the name change.

Chromedome.

Chromedome, Chromedome, _Chromedome._

As Misfire would probably say, “ _very head-y_ ”.

He wondered if it was at all something to do with his very head related job.

Or if he even still _had_ that job by now.

Either way, looks like they both had gone for something different, since the time they’d last heard of each other.

“He’s alive. He’s on the same ship as _me_ and unless _I’m_ – never mind that, actually. Point is, he’s alive. Hurrah for more news of _unexpected_ _survivals!”_

“And he’s _happy?”_

A pause.

A _prolonged_ pause.

“No. He’s not.” Brainstorm admitted.

Words that were like a physical blow to the listener – who felt himself sag now, as if bound by some sort of heavy chains.

They brought with them an _immense_ whirlwind of guilt.

Guilt that was only worsened by his inability to…well…

He’d _hoped_ for better, he had. That he might have found something, somewhere, somehow, like he had with the _Scave_ ngers - unconventional and utterly chaotic as _that_ had turned out.

This was not _at all_ the answer he would have liked…

But…

…But, having known and loved the mech like Fulcrum had…sadly, not one he could bring himself to be _surprised in._

 _He’d_ laugh and make _him_ laugh and have a voice so full of smiles that would say wonderful words and amazing, impossible ideas for them both, but…there always _was_ that element of… _sadness_ to him, a deep sort that could never be shaken off entirely.

A sadness that showed its head mostly, when he thought no-one else to be looking.

Or, when he simply didn’t have the energy to hide it anymore.

No matter how much…

…

Another pause in the room.

“I _tried,_ I’m _trying_ but…something happened on the ship.”

Fulcrum tried to figure out what to say to that.

“I know you’ll have tried.” He settled on, honestly.

Brainstorm always had been good for him.

The paranoid cautions and fears he’d once held about the mech aside, he’d come to know _exactly_ who had kept Tu- _Chromedome_ together, when his illicit would-get-you-arrested-if-found-out-about decepticon lover wasn’t there.

As was the case more often than would be liked even before…things happened.

With his very nature of _being_ an _illicit would-get-you-arrested-if found-out-about decepticon lover._

And- and he tried to thank him for that, with as much sincerity as he could muster.

Thank him, for looking out for Tumbler.

But tried turned out to be the key word with that.

Him being interrupted by a burst of jarring, incredulous laughter.

“ _Me?_ _No_.” Brainstorm shook his head as the laughter trailed off, voice instead turning soft and quiet, as his wings gave off a little twitch.

 “No. No, I’ve never been good at that at all.”

The atmosphere of the conversation fogged over them both then - in the thunderous silence that stretched on from that - with such an _immense_ thickness that they could almost worry that it might clog up their vents.

It did not get much better when that silence broke.

“You said something happened?”

“Someone died.” A tone of guilt was layered in there. “Someone important to him.”

“Who?” Fulcrum blurted out reflexively, as he wondered if they might be someone he knew.

 _Unlikely_ , he’d not exactly been paraded about to people Tumbler – _Chromedome_ was friendly with, but perhaps he might have at least been mentioned to him, at some point.

But Brainstorm, well, _he_ seemed to quite visibly grow even more agitated at this turn of conversation, something Fulcrum found himself starting to get agitated by too.

Not _his_ fault he had questions.

Was he supposed to just _know_ things?!

“Don’t you get annoyed at me.” He jammed a finger into his own chassis. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one doing the explaining?”

“Like _you_ don’t have your _proper_ explaining to do too _Pivot_ , with what your oh so _brilliant_ disappearing act _did to him_. I’m just going _first_.” Was snapped right on back, before the scientist reigned himself back in, heavily venting and looking away with a glower.

Fulcrum’s mouth twisted as he looked away too, arm dropping down to hang limply at his side, as he was unable to dispute a single word of any of that.

It was Brainstorm who looked back first, forcing himself to trundle on through this conversation.

“His conjunx.”

“What?” The bomb looked back second, unsure if he was being referred to.

“ _That’s_ who he is…was, to Chromedome. That’s who died. His conjunx endura, a data-archivist named Rewind.”

A rough, start of a sound came out of Fulcrum’s vocorder…and then his response, in a voice that was so very, very small.

“… _oh_.”

Oh. 

So, Tu- _Chromedome_ , had…he’d...moved on… _too_ …then… _oh._           

Much more successfully than he had too, from the sounds of it…

…a second conjunx…

Well, he supposed he’d had much more time to do it than he had…could hardly expect him to mourn him forever, stages of grief and all…and it was good if he’d found someone that could make him happy! It was!

Even if just for a while.

He…he wanted the best for him.

As said before, he really _had_ hoped for it!

Tumbler _deserved_ the best.

He should be ecstatic to know that!

He…

…

…

…and…

…then…

…This shouldn’t…

_This shouldn’t hurt so bad to find out._

_Why did it hurt so bad to find out!?_

_Why did it feel like- no. ~~~~_

No!

He’d moved on. He was fine- he – no he wasn’t – no, he _was-  he- and he had no right to go about thinking like this!_

_He didn’t._

He was being an absolute hypocrite and if there was something he could not _stand_ it was _absolute hypocrites._

_If anything, he should be concerned with Tumbler!_

Here he was trying to keep himself together over _one_ badly ended conjunx endura relationship – and he’d apparently had _two!_

_He couldn’t imagine the-_

He _should-_

_He-_

_…_

_…_

_…_

He should _several_ things.

But-

_But he was selfish._

_He was being the sort of hypocrite he despised._

_And he just wanted to-_

 “Can…can I see him?” Fulcrum asked, quietly.

“You don’t have to say how we met again!” He hurried on before a ‘no’ could be said.

“We could- we could think of an excuse. If you don’t want him to know about-” He gestured at his general mouth area, winding a digit around.

_“Pivot- “_

“I’m _not_ asking an opportunity to get back together now. I’m not. We’re different people than we were, we’ve both moved on, and I get that, and I wouldn’t _do_ that to him.” He stressed, shaking his head as he made his plea.

“I just want to talk. To explain. I just- I _need_ to-”

A mumble of something from Brainstorm then, a mumble that Fulcrum couldn’t quite make out.

It looked like he was speaking to himself anyway/

 His optics were so wide and bright that he vaguely worried that they might be about to burn out, but best he could tell they weren’t focused on anything at all.

Just, lost in his own thoughts.

 _“Please_.” Fulcrum asked again.

“I _can’t._ ” Distressed optics reluctantly refocused back to the situation at hand.

“I can’t. He- _you’re going to make me say it aren’t you?”_

Fulcrum was increasingly bewildered by this and couldn’t find the words in him to do anything other than look confused.

He’d promised he wasn’t dead, so what was -?

“He-” Brainstorm tripped on his own words as he shifted about, wings up and down as his plating rattled.

Uncomfortable and back to looking just as ready to bolt as he had when he’d first recognised the orange-faced mech.

Then he settled down, still, the only movement being a helm tilting to the side as his expression shifted.

Shifted to the most _pitying_ look Fulcrum had ever seen in his life.

_“He wouldn’t know who you are.”_

…Ah. Alright.

Is this just about that then?

Well.

_Thank Primus._

That’s not too big of a problem.

He couldn’t deny that he’d had thoughts about this himself in the past, ever since being pinned onto that pit-damned traitors’ wheel – but even still, he’d thought this would be about something _much_ more serious than that, way Brainstorm was acting.

“ _Ah_. Look, I know I’ve been reformatted” He motioned over his distinctively K-Class self.

“But _you_ recognised me. And if he doesn’t, I can just _say_ it’s me _.”_

 _“That’s not the problem._ Reformatting! _Pfft._ He would have recognised you if you somehow came back as a mechanimal.”

The use of past tense did not escape the other mech there.

“ _‘Would have’?!_ You said he’s not dead!”

 “I did! Because he’s not!”

“Then what’s with the past tense and _what’s the problem?!”_

“The problem is- it’s because _he’s_ not dead, but he thought _you were_. _We both did_. And he-” Optics still looked sadly on as the scientist took a klik, hand to helm as if nursing some gigantic processor ache.

“Y’know what he’s _like_. Everything he feels, everyone he _connects with_ , he does it with such an immediate _intensity_. Most mechs take _time_ with these things, care, but him – he launches himself right into that smelting pit helm first.”

Optics shuttered, staying closed far longer than should have been necessary.

“Which means, when he l _oses_ that someone he launched himself in there for…he doesn’t cope well with it. _At all_.”

A face shifted into something resembling what could only be described as utter _defeat_.

“He _convinced_ himself that he couldn’t handle the grief, the _pain_ and-” The hand moved again, until the fingers were tapping the back of his neck.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

“-and he convinced himself that _he didn’t have to_.”

There’s a moment, where things don’t quite click for Fulcrum.

The words and the motion were all there, for sure, in a manner that should have made absolute sense.

But they didn’t settle in Fulcrum’s processors.

Didn’t string together.

They were just _things_ to him.

Separate things, not the confession that they actually were.

It didn’t make sense.

For a moment.

“What..?”

And then, with all the brutal, unyielding force of a fusion cannon - _it did._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't find a place to put it in the chapter, it switching between Misfire and Fulcrum POV and not Brainstorm's, but I do hc that the reason Brainstorm is willingly going first with the full explanation, is because he still feels bad about what happened and how he, once again, could not manage to stop it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he reaches a terrible realisation, Fulcrum thinks back to a conversation held some time ago, which he now also realises holds a horrific relevance to the conversation being held now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely kudos and comments! Love them all :D
> 
> This chapter here is an in-universe flashback that became too long to not be it's own chapter.  
> I do hope you enjoy reading it!
> 
> As a warning/heads-up though: it does very briefly have some of that Decepticon stigma about mental health in it, with Fulcrum/Pivot not having moved past those prejudices himself yet.  
> Just in case that may be an issue.

 

Arms wrapped around him, muttering calming words into his audial as he thrashed and clawed and kicked at the source, refusing to let _it_ get him.

But it wasn’t _it_ who had caught him.

“It’s _not real_ Pivot! You’re safe. You’re here, I’m here! I’ve got you!”

Rapid ventilations as the words caught up with him and he tried to convince both body and mind to stop panicking about and reacting to a danger that _just wasn’t there_.

It was only once he’d managed _that_ , that he himself spoke.

Spoke _coherently_ anyway.

“It felt _real_ , like I was back, back all over again.” Pivot shuddered, pressing his face further into the chassis in front of him.

“I know love, I know it did. But it was just a bad memory purge. That’s all.” Was said softly, warm, safe arms squeezing even tighter in reassurance

Meanwhile, an immense feeling of guilt ruptured in the one subject to that reassurance.

“I ruined this didn’t I.”

A statement, with not a question to be found in it.

“This was supposed to be our time together, and I wake you up yelling about rubbish.” Pivot elaborated further, in a muffled voice, helm not lifting from its resting place.

Of all solar cycles for _that_ to flare up- he wasn’t even the type to get bad memory purges like this!

_Never._

He’d _never_ been those who would spend valuable recharge time yelling about non-existent phantoms.

Spent more than enough time being worried while _awake,_ for such things to follow him into _recharge_ too.

…And yet.

Here this one was.

_Again._

Disturbing his conjunx now too.

“Not at all.” A soft, gentle tap of a mask at the top of the helm, before a chin rested just as gently upon it.

“Well. You _did_ wake me up.” A hint of humour, trying to goad a similar sort of response from his other.

“But eh, nothing’s ruined and I think I owed you for that. Don’t you?”

An undignified little snort from Pivot.

“Maybe.”

Although… _that_ situation being referred to there…had been something _quite_ different.

“I _do_ wish you’d told me.”  

“Ahh, it’s nothing.” Was said in a fine case of words saying one thing and voice saying another.

“Just stupid. Didn’t want to worry you.”

“It’s not stupid. How long’s this been going on?”

Pivot did the best approximation of a shrug that he could, while not wanting to disturb the arms wrapped soothingly around him

“Do you want to talk about it?”

A shake of voice and shake of head.

“Wouldn’t go well.”

His conjunx leaned back from him then, something that saddened Pivot – suddenly feeling too _bare_ , too _exposed_ here – and caused him to shift and try lean back in himself.

Only to find Tumbler leaning back too, readjusting himself so that helms could gently butt together as hands took hands.

“I should have noticed.” His other then grimaced, as the two settled into each other once more.

“ _How?_ We haven’t been able to spend this much time together in _deca-cycles_.” Pivot spoke incredulously, brow ridges arching.

 “You _couldn’t_ have known. You had no _way_ to know. You’re not _that_ kind of mind reader.”

“I should _still_ have been able to tell that something was bothering you love, when we _did t_ alk.”

Silence.

And then, the hands holding his gave a reassuring squeeze.

“Do you want me to get rid of it?” Was offered softly, as optics gazed into each other.

“It’s causing you pain, and it doesn’t have to. I could help! Just pluck it all out. It would be easy.”

And, well…Pivot mulled over that idea there.

He did.

“It wouldn’t hurt, I promise.”

And the decepticon fully believed that promise.

He did.

But-

“I’ll pass.” He declined.

“Just need some time. I’ll get over it.”

After all, what kind of _Decepticon_ would he be if he needed a mnemosurgeon to get over a simple bad memory?!

That, _and_ the risk of what would happen if somebody found out about the inevitable scars.

The idea was too cowardly even for a coward like him – and, at the same time, too _risky_ for a coward like him.

“I hope that doesn’t-” He then mumbled, worried if he might have caused offence.

“No. _Never_.” A tap of a kiss on a lover’s lips. “It’s _your_ choice my love. I was just offering.”

 _“…Thanks.”_ A grateful kiss right back on that faceplate.

“And the offer always stands. It’s not _now or never_. If you ever want to talk or forget. I’m here. You just need to ask.”

Optics shuttered, as they once again drew arms around each other and simply enjoyed each other’s company and the peace it brought them.

Even if it had become glaringly apparent that, after all of _this_ , neither or them would be getting any further recharge that solar cycle.

To which, after a while of the two ever so slightly swaying together, Pivot proposed –

“Do you want to go now? It’s early but – that just means I get to have more time to show it to you.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

Pivot found, even now, he could never get over how much he loved that voice that could have so much smiles in it.

“I think you’ll like it.” He himself smiled, thoughts of the bad memory purge burying themselves for now, as the two manoeuvred off the berth.

“I know I will. Heh, I’ve heard how _you’ve_ talked about it! It’ll be nice.”

And, just like that, Pivot was leaning up to be kissing his beloved conjunx endura all over again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while to get out!
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for every kudos and comment! They are all hugely appreciated! :)
> 
> A lot of hurt here in this chap as things are not taken well, but I hope you still enjoy reading!
> 
> A mild warning for some "Back to Mach" spoilers here about something that's going to happen in that fic, but not much more than was already given in "Things that Scatter".

_‘He convinced himself that he couldn’t handle the grief, the pain and- and he convinced himself that he didn’t have to.’_

_‘It’s causing you pain, and it doesn’t have to. I could help! Just pluck it all out. It would be easy.’_

Flashes of memories from times before came back forth and mingled with what was being said right now, intermingling and compounding into one horrific realisation Fulcrum was desperate not to have.

As he felt like he was hitting the ground on Clemency all over again.

_“He wouldn’t.”_

Came out, almost as quiet as a glitch-mouse.

“He _wouldn’t.”_

Once again, was tried.              

And yet it still had the sound of a mech more trying to convince himself than anything else.

He _wouldn’t._ He _wouldn’t_ do that he wouldn’t just _-_ after all they _\- he wouldn’t!_

_He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t he-_

“I _tried_ to stop him, I did. Neither of you deserve _that_ , but- but _I failed again._ ”

It was then that Fulcrum started to shake, energon churning around, venting to cool his systems down as everything started to feel like it was _burning._

Shutting his optics to just _think._

Because…because he…

Because Brainstorm was right, and Fulcrum knew it.

Tumbler…Tumbler _would._

With how he was about grief and bad things that haunted.

And he did.

Primus help him, he _did!_

There was another violent shudder as words played over his head again and again.

Which inevitable meant he caught something.

  _“Again?”_ Optics opened and muffled voice through a servo.

“What do you mean _again?”_

A helm tilted to the side.

“I’m not-”.

It was then that something in his voice _broke._

“I’m not the first. It happened before. This was an _again_.”

Despair flooded even further then, as he found himself incapable of feeling anything else at all.

His entire frame and mind gone _numb._

Although not so numb that he could not hear Brainstorm’s lament - “ _Yeah_. Yeah, it was.”

And it was then that despair curdled into some other _beast_ entirely.

Fists clenched and denta grinded together as an expression darkened.

“How many?”

He needed to know.

Because this made this whole waking nightmare of a thing that much wose.

That he was _not_ even the first-person Tumbler no – not Tumbler, he wasn’t Tumblr. He was _Chromedome_ – had erased.

Meaning, Brainstorm had _known_ this entire time. 

The entire time they’d been in a relationship, fearing potential scenarios where something bad happened – Brainstorm had _known_ what sort of _betrayal_ would be done if something happened to him.

And not once had he _warned_ him!

He maybe could have- maybe could have talked to his conjunx about this!

He could have – but _could_ he have?

He clearly knew nowhere near as much about him as he thought with things like this turning up!

What _else_ was there about him he didn’t know about?!

How many other secrets did the mech have, forgotten or not?!

And if he’d meant so utterly _little t_ o him that – that –

If he meant so little to him that he would discard the very _concept_ of his existence like _deleting some bad memory purge_ , would any conversation he might have had with him have _even made any difference at all?!_

“Listen, buddy, you’ve already-”

“I am _not_ your buddy. You could have told me about this, you could have warned me, but you _didn’t_.”

“It would not have made even a _teensy_ bit of a difference.” Brainstorm objected, one hand illustrated that point by having two fingers touching together, and another anxiously fiddling with some sort of chain attached that was to both his briefcase and his wrist.

“Someone else found out before. Had a whole big chat with Chromedome and then _me_ ‘bout it all. Y’know what difference that made?”

An exaggerated shrug by the scientist, lifting his arms well into the air.

“Same as me talking to Chromedome when the worst happened. Not a _damn thing_. Nothing changed! The only difference was the fallout when _he_ first found out. And then the fallout when _Chromedome_ first found out! That all just caused pain and damage that _nobody_ had to have even _gone through_ in the first place. It didn’t even _stick_ either. So, why would I _ever_ force him through that _again_ if I didn’t _have_ to?!”

“That _wasn’t_ your call to make!” 

“There was no-one else to _make it!”_ Brainstorm protested, vocalisations rising in pitch, as his own optics briefly flashed with what was unmistakably resentment.

Although at precisely _what_ that resentment was being directed at – whether at the situation, Fulcrum, himself or something else entirely - only Brainstorm himself could tell.

_If even that._

“ _Nobody._ I had to watch again, and again as my _best friend_ lost not only the people he loved, but _himself_ with them. I had to decide what to do with that and I didn’t do _amazing_ , didn’t even do _great_ , but I did whatever I _could_ for him. You _have_ to know this Pivot you’re just-”

“ _Fulcrum!_ It’s Fulcrum. Not _Pivot_. I’m _not_ Pivot. Chromedome isn’t the only one who can _move on_ in his life.”  Was venomously corrected

Although technically, the name change was more an attempt to avoid a cowardice charge than anything else.

But he wasn’t going to admit to that here.

Especially, as that memory brought even more suffering with it.

He’d thought about him then.

On the wheel, spikes driven into his body as he was about to be tortured to death.

Even _then_ , he’d thought back to his conjunx.

Not knowing…not knowing that…

“And don’t you dare act like he _cared._ If he cared, he wouldn’t have-” Fulcrum’s vocorder hitched again as his anger started to collapse back into an unbearable sadness.

Optics starting to _burn,_ optical gauze overheating at last.

And so, Fulcrum gripped that ember of anger even tighter, refusing to let it go.

“He wouldn’t have just deleted me, deleted us, like bad coding. Like I- like _we_ were _nothing._ ”

“He deleted you because you _weren’t_ nothing. You were his _everything_. He nearly _died_ over you, after you disappeared.”

There was a moment, after that.

An immensely bitter moment, curdled by rage and despair and feelings of _betrayal_ …

In which he almost wished that he _had_ heard him dead instead.

 In which he thought that news might just have hurt that _bit_ less.

In which he wouldn’t have to deal with that parasite worming its way around his processor, telling him that Brainstorm’s assurances here were only _empty placations._

Empty placations he didn’t hear much more of other than a dull drone in the background, as he struggled to focus in on _anything_ through all the muddled thoughts and feelings and _too much_ all running through his processer at once.

In fact, the next thing he properly heard outside of his own head, was some sort of deep, rumbling sound from all around, vibrating throughout the entire ship.

And he didn’t even get the chance to process that, before his feet were no longer touching the ground.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to go into what happened at the end there, but I came to the decision that would be too much of a mood whiplash.
> 
> So next chapter's going to be covering what Misfire's been up to this entire time!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the big wait and how long this took, to finally have another chapter done at last!
> 
> Thanks so much for the support and comments on this fic!
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading this new chapter :)

Misfire was _bored_.

The pinhead had not only totally ditched him – but he’d been waiting here now, _foreveeever!_

Well, not _forever_ , forever.

Forever forever would imply that the Pinhead had buckled up and would never ever come out of that room again.

Remain there, haunted, like some lost soldier of war or Krok’s optics in that moment between realising his engex had mysteriously disappeared and him getting angry about it and unjustly accusing somebody!

He wouldn’t never ever come out forever and ever.

Even though he might be sulking and in going through some right emotional _junk funk_ right now.

Junk definitely totally being the right word for it!

It was useless stuff just getting in the way and spoiling fun.

In fact – no, it was worse than garbage!

Junk could be fun!

He’d made a sled from junk –  went careening off in that for just a bit of fun it one landing, even able to drag the pinhead he was currently mad at for being pinheady into doing it -  he’d made a marvellous sculpture that was a pinnacle of masterpieces from junk -  one that had also been a super super hiding spot for shoot shoot bang bang before Crankcase had shoved it down in a grump. Revenge was still on the agenda for that. He’d have to think the perfect scheme for that later, after he’d thought of one for pinhead for this first – he’d made a fake gun with junk too -  still somehow managed to miss, which was unfair – all the things!

You could swapsies for it too as sometimes it turned out to be super impressive to people.

This emotional junk funk though? You could do nothing with this emotional junk funk right now.

Zilch. Nada. Uh oh. Zero to the zero and below.

In fact, it didn’t even deserve to be called that – he’d just call it a _funk._

One he was trying to wait out right now, with the not-quite-actually-forever-but-it-sure-does-feel-like-it waiting period.

_To prove a point._

A now boring point, almost not worth it.

At first, he’d been banging at the door being all ‘ _lemme in_ ’ – but no.

Then he’d considered asking Grimsy to bash down the door – but no.

Repercussions too high for that and with all the super duper work and progress Grimsy had managed, he didn’t want it getting worse again because of him.

So, Grimsy was on the floor right now in dino mode, sleeping.

And Misfire was playing an intellectual game of “leg”.

Having also given up for now in running scenarios as to ‘What-Is-the-Pinhead’s-Deal”, he was now trying to see how many fancy patterns he could do with his legs, without tangling them up or making them no longer touch the wall.

He contemplated whether instead, he should perhaps try composing tunes instead of patterns with them, only to then hear _something_.

His optics narrowed, as he heard a weird scuttle sound, just faintly.

Faintly, like something to sneak.

Faintly, like something _suspicious._

Aha!

Would appear he did have something else to do then!

He’d just have to make sure he got it done in time for him to come back and still prove his point to Fulcrum!

Misfire made what could honestly be described as an attempt to get to his feet in a sort of sneaky and quiet manner – but success was…debatable.

He was on his pedes now, creepin’ like a creeper.

Wings dropping slightly with his immense concentration, him even having a hand holding his chin all serious-like.

Looking like a proper detective already, he bet.

All he needed now, was a magnifying glass. But he didn’t have that. He hadn’t been able to find any online yet which could be held by a plane and mech both.

Which was _lame._

But a lameness counteracted slightly by his detective pose, Misfire thought.

So let’s detect the hell out of this!

Scave _ng_ er style!

 

* * *

 

 

Okay.

_Well._

He’d detected the _hell_ out of it.

Good and proper.

Or, maybe not proper.

He didn’t think he’d used any proper boring protocols.

He wasn’t even sure which protocols would be used in this case – any cybertronian ones? Or that of the lot which actually owned this planet?

He could see it argued either way, really-

Actually, anyway- where?

Oh yeah.

_There was some winged and weird alien thing eating some of the internals of the ship._

The soft scrapes and scuttles had been shockingly soft, knowing what was actually happening.

He would have expected more of a _scrreeeeeech_ or _skreeeeeee_ or _bangabangabang_!

But nah.

The WWAT?! was a subtle bugger.

How did it get in-?

Shuffling right on back the way he came, Misfire made his way to-

Misfire jerked back at the sight, wings hiking and leg well in the air.

_Okay. Okay dokey. Dokey okay of the dokey._

This was even badder than that bad.

There was…not a whole door there anymore.

_The WWAT?! ate its way through a door!_

Misfire started knowing on a finger of his then, as he peered and stuck his head out the gap, looking to see if there were any more WWAT’s just waiting to happen.

He probably looked decapitated.

A Misfire trophy mounted on the door.

But he was a decapitated head who did not have any more ‘what’s’ at any more WWAT?! doing who knew what as a WWAT?! would apparently do.

Which…what a relief!

There were only so much rhyming a mech could handle at once.

Oh and questions and metal eating…pests…

Yeah…wot do on that?

 

* * *

 

 

Okay, in Misfire’s complete and utter innocent defence as he ran charging and yelling to the controls, he had no way to know it would have gone this way.

Running screaming holding the snarling, snapping thing as he bowled it right on through the whole in the door like, well, a bowl or a bowling ball, Grimlock stomping behind him as he did – he thought that would be it!

The big dinosaur and being bowled out bowl style would make it go “nah”, long enough for someone else to get here to deal with the wildlife.

But, well, apparently being a WWAT?! was a team effort after all, as it turns out.

Like a sport.

One running out, as the rest all were lazy, but were totally waiting their turn to not be lazy and step in and do their turn.

And, hearing their teammate shriek it’s very toothy head off as it got bowled out…they didn’t like that, exactly, and it was all scuttle scuttle scuttle scream out there now.

And…err…hmm…they might be trying a little bit too eat the ship now…at least the door gap, was guarded by Grimsy now, so they weren’t _in_ …but…

Scrape scrape scraping and shrieking metal protesting like you know, metal would being eaten.

Misfire imagined he would be a lot louder.

Loud enough that the stupid pinhead might finally hear him.

At least he knew how to actually _fly_ this WAP and shake the things off.

Crankcase and Fulcrum not even having had the common decency to put labels on any of the controls like any mech should.

Leaving Misfire just to have to guess.

And it a rush! Not able to properly _feel_ what might be the right one too.

And so, he decided to go with what had gotten him through several shenanigans before – _luck._

In just grapping and hitting something and hoping for the _best_.

The ship did not give him any great climatic soar like something majestic, but instead simply gave off what could best be described as a _croak_.

So, frowning deeply at the ship choosing now to do its best – and still substandard -  animal impression, as the horde continued to gnaw.

And that was that!

With one final, probably technically should be alarming, sound the WAP gave in and _whoosh._

Misfire being jostled backwards into the seat, as he got the slight teeny impression he had not done this properly.

But oh well.

It would have to do!

It was soaring!

He’d treat this like that game now, he decided.

He had high scores in several just like this!

Had gotten unjustly banned for allegedly cheating in one, he was so good. It was a proud and annoying moment in equal measures!

This would be just like that!

_A nasty thudding and ominous eek eek sound on top of the skree skrees, as his next manoeuvre just about threw him off of the seat with a yelp, barely staying in place._

…Right?

…Yeah????

Panicked footsteps stomping in behind, as a fellow passenger fought to drag their way up to the cockpit.

“ _Misfire?!_ What the ever loving _frag?!”_

Misfire turned to-

“ _No!_ No don’t look from the window! Look back! Back until I can get there!”

-Misfire did not turn to pout at Fulcrum.

But he did still make a snarky comment, to compensate for how it seemed he would not get to prove that point he wanted now…

He didn’t think Fulcrum even properly _heard_ it though as he made it up, so _that_ was wasted.

“Give it to me! Misfire, give it here!” Panic strained through, as Fulcrum made it up despite the upward angle, gripping tightly at the pilot chair to keep himself in place.

“Yeah, yeah. Here you go. See if you can shake off the metal-eating horde.”

_“The what?!”_

“Yeah! That’s what I call them too!” Misfire called, as he was already rolling out of the chair.

A mistake, as before Fulcrum got a chance to properly take his place, the ship was still at a slant.

And so, Misfire got reminded of that time he went sledding.

Only, this time without, a sled, or any sort of fun involved, as he went smacking into a wall – this time at least, not leading a dent.

Which was almost a shame.

It would have been nice.

His own hole in the wall.

But, Fulcrum had to go get in control of the ship at the last moment and correct it’s trajectory.

At least this was less painful.

…Until Fulcrum apparently, heard the creatures too this time, with the ship suddenly taking a very abrupt swerve.

Along with Misfire also taking a just as abrupt swerve, right into the left wall.

The only consolation to that, being the inherent irony in that sentence.

 

* * *

 

 

Pessimists would say ‘shockingly so’, but Misfire decided not to be a pessimist about that.

And rightly so – as they had completely and utterly nailed the escape move!

Got the pests right of them and parked somewhere else.

Misfire had even stopped being thrown around during it, as Grimsy arrived in the room – the pink jet deciding to tightly grab onto him for safety.

He was absolutely going to have to post this online and brag all about it later.

As well as brag all about it to the rest of the S _cave_ ngers when they got back too – probably individually! It would be better that way. More focus on the individual reactions.

But…Fulcrum…didn’t look so happy about it.

Now that it was over with and he could afford to without fear of  being ‘devoured by an alien horde’ he’d just kind of…flopped.

Helm and arms hung down, not moving or saying anything at all.

…He was still in that funk, _wasn’t he?_

_Ugh._

“Hey! Hey pinhead! Hey!”  He called, as he unwound from Grimsy, giving his favourite dinobot a smile as he did.

“Hey!”

Fulcrum did stand up then, moving from around the chair.

His face was a _mess_ -

Not a room is messy mess, or I’ve lost my wrench mess, or I have been lightly stabbed mess, but _emotionally funked out mess_.

\- even _Misfire_ quickly saw as he did, giving the briefest of pauses.

A single wing twitching and flicking upwards.

“Fulc? Hey! That was actually _awesome_ , considering how _much_ of an-”

“I need a klik.” Was all that came out, as he walked right on past.

Oh no. Not this time.

“Uh _uh_.”

Misfire grabbed at the closest arm at this, causing Fulcrum to sluggishly turn and look at him.

“You gonna spill what all that was?”

No response.

“Oh, come on! I tell you _loads!”_

“I need a klik.” Came out flatly.

But, there was an edge to that there.

The edge that said ‘I may be about to get mad’.

A familiar and _unfair_ edge.

Both wings indignantly flung up now, as Misfire tried cross his arms while

“Or _what?”_

* * *

 

 

Or, as it turned out, the runner would do a runner again this time.

Lock himself in his room.

Or rather – _their_ room! This being one they shared!

_The Pinhead had locked him out of his own room!_

Well, he guessed he was just technically homeless for now then.

_Homeless within his own home._

A tragic fate, that Fulcrum would have to take back, because he better and _he knew he could hear him this time these walls weren’t “-sound proof you utter loser of a bomb who doesn’t even have any cool bomb colours that would make you think bomb!”_

_Bang._

_Bang._

_Bang._

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy to see that there's still interest in this story! 
> 
> That makes me incredibly happy to see - a massive thanks for the continued support!
> 
> A flashback this time, with a whole lot of hurt in it - and attempts being made at the "comfort".

  _Bang._

_Bang._

_Bang._

“Knock, knock! Guess who?”

Nothing.

Brainstorm banged on the door again, this time much more loudly.

“It’s Brainstorm! Again.” He answered his own question, when it had been greeted with nothing else.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

“Tumbler, buddy, it’s me! Open up!” He pleaded.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

There was a smell coming in from there. A sticky, acrid sort of smell wafting from the home that let Brainstorm know all that he needed to right off the bat.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

He ducked down and looked around, tucking his fingers into a panel in the obscenely vain hope that Mach’s spare key card was still hid inside–

_“It is not to be common knowledge and is there only for emergencies, but if you are being pursued and need somewhere to hide quickly, feel free to use it yourself Brainstorm.”_

_“Hmm. Specific. Talking from experience are we?”_

\- but no.

Nothing there.

Must have been cleared out like everything else he’d ever owned in here.

And the lock had been changed since the way in Scattergun had given him –

_“You’re my junxie’s amica, you gotta be able to visit! But promise no experiments in here or Fins’ll change the lock.”_

\- as a gesture.

The later lock change being his own fault, allegedly, but he really was cursing it because he needed something, anything, to work right now.

And while he could easily get something to break the door down - like a door disintegratenator for specifically disintegrating doors – he’d rather not.

Especially not with what his dearest and only friend was already dealing with right now.

He wouldn’t add to that. He wouldn’t.

He was here to help…again.

He had to try…again.

No matter the fact he had a bad feeling that he already knew how this was going to go…

…Again.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

But he had to try.

“Tumbler! Buddy, y’know I’m your friend and I know what you’re doing in there. People are talking. You need to let me in!”

Because he knew what he was looking for and he knew what was going to be found.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

 “D’you think you could just stop for one moment?!”

There was a loud clunk of something being dropped down inside, but otherwise…still nothing.

But at least that clunk was in itself, well, something.

A sign he was at least being heard and the mech in there was to at least some degree still aware.

“How are you in there?” He tried instead, bracing himself.

“How do you think?! He’s still missing.” Was snapped back, a slight bit of static mixing in as he did.

And despite himself, despite the fact that Tumbler was clearly suffering, Brainstorm felt a guilty twinge of relief there as he thanked Primus himself for this answer.

Because the alternative was something much, much worse.

He wasn’t expecting that.

Not yet.

Not while there was still a chance.

Not from the fact that even from here, with the rank scent wafting, he could tell he couldn’t have possibly cleared out all evidence that something – and someone - had ever happened yet, like he always did before…

…But he’d still had to make sure.

The door opened then, the smell that came out of it being even worse when it did.

Nonetheless he hurried on in before his dearest and only friend changed his mind.

“Be quick. I’m busy.”

He was already ambling away from him, heading back to-

Oh dear Primus.

  _There they were._

“Tumbler. No. Stop. _Stop!”_ Brainstorm stepped in front of him, even as his dimmed yellow visor narrowed in annoyance.

The room was filled with them.

“No more needles! You’ve had enough, and we need to talk.”

Grey bodies everywhere in various conditions of disrepair, leaving rust and stale energon oozing out of more than a few of them.

Grey bodies which were certainly all the product of the same raid.

Grey bodies which would best not be examined too closely under a UV light.

“I can’t stop! I can’t abandon him! He might need me and I need to find out-“

 “People are talking Tumbler. You can’t think this isn’t being noticed! You haven’t been yourself since the raid. You keep leaving the room whenever someone brings it up, bodies from it are going missing, you’ve clearly not been recharging, and along with being consecutively late, you didn’t even come in to work at all today!”  

As soon as he’d noticed the absence, he’d turned right on one of his experiments, the result of that causing the mass evacuation he needed to give him a reason to leave himself.

And good thing that he had!

Tumbler was clearly in disrepair, everybody had noticed, slumping in on himself, visor nowhere near as bright as it should be, barely even noticing when he was being talked to most of the time...not a state to be left alone in.

His unknowing amica needed somebody to be with him now more than ever.

Brainstorm knew that better than anybody else.

Especially as he also didn’t know, when the last time was that the mech had properly recharged or refuelled.

He hadn’t seen him do it once since the news got in, no matter how much he’d tried to coax him.

“Then let them talk, I need to know if he’s okay…I need to see-”

“Buddy, you’re _killing yourself!_ You can’t do this much mnemosurgery, you _know_ you can’t! You’ve seen what happens when people do! And even if that doesn’t do it, what do you think is going to happen if High Command finds out about this?! That you’re doing all this for a decepticon?! You’re leaving a trail that _anyone_ with half a-”

_“Pivot._ Not a decepticon. Pivot!”

“Pivot _the decepticon!”_

“Pivot my conjunx endura! He’s- he’s…”

It was then that Tumbler’s voice broke, unable to say any more.

But he didn’t need to anyway.

Not to him.

“I know.” Brainstorm said as gently as he could, as he fought to keep his own vocorder steady, clamping down on it like a vice.

 “I know what he means to you. And I’ve been trying to help you find him. I have. You know I have. But as your friend, I can’t – I won’t - let you kill yourself over this.”

He took a hold of his friend’s hand, looking on sadly and gently rubbing a digit over it, as the needles that had still been out snicked right back in.  

“And as your friend, we need to talk about the possibility that-”

“Don’t you dare-” 

“…If he’s gone-”

_“He’s not gone!”_

_“-If he’s gone_ , then there’s something we _need_ to talk about.”

 

_I’m sorry._


End file.
